Tuesday, April 12, 2016

A Short Short Story

FANTASIE IMPROMPTU

She knew she was dreaming. She had been having the same
dream for six nights: she was walking along Place Vendôme, seeing candles and
oil lamps in windows, hearing voices speaking in French, watching a carriage
drive away from her and passing by a bistro where diners were engrossed in food
and conversation.

Ahead she heard the music. She walked up the steps to a
house and the door opened for her, and she went inside and the music was more
present; it was directly ahead of her. She recognized it: Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu, one of her favorite pieces. She followed the music through the hall, candles in
wall sconces flickering restlessly as she passed though ─ she was but a specter
in this place. Her heart began to beat more quickly.

She opened French doors into a drawing room and the music
surrounded her, filled her being. He was seated at the pianforte, playing with passion
and strength that belied his look of delicacy. She stood against the wall,
watching and listening, and when he finished he looked directly at her.

“You can see me,” she almost whispered, speaking in English.

“Certainement,” he replied in French. Only she heard it as “Of
course.”

He stood and moved toward her. He was painfully thin, his
body ravaged by the tuberculosis that was slowly killing him.

“You have been here every night for a week. At first I did not see you … but I sensed you. Then last night you became visible to me. But I was
afraid to speak to you.”

He was standing directly in front of her. She could see the
fine veins under the pale skin, the unnatural brilliance of his eyes. She could
smell the rusty odor of blood on his breath.

“Es-tu la Mort?” he asked, using the familiar form of “you,”
which surprised her. “I am ready if you have come for me.”

She embraced him, and felt bones under skin. How fragile he is, she thought.

“I am not Death. I am a dream,” she said. “I’m dreaming of
you, but I don’t know why. I’ve dreamed of you for six nights. I’ve walked into
this house each time and listened to you play and wanted to speak to you but
you didn’t see me.”

He trembled in her arms. “Perhaps I am dead already. I know
I have been dying for some time.”

“What year is this?”

“1849.”

“And the month?”

“September.” He stepped back to look at her. “Why do you not
know this?”

“You will not be here much longer, Fryderyk,” she said, not
even realizing she had used his birth name … his Polish name. “I live in another
time … far in the future. I don’t know why I’ve come to you, but here I am. The
piece you were just playing … it lives on. As does all your music. You live on.
In my time you are remembered and loved because of your music.”

“What is this that is happening? How is it that you are
here?” He grasped her shoulders and she felt the cold in his hands. “Are you a
vision I have been given to ease my death?”

“I have no answers,” she said softly. “I think perhaps we
have both been given a gift.”

“Que veux-tu dire?”

“I mean coming to you in my dream, hearing you play, has
given me hope. I have been in despair, but seeing and hearing you has inspired
me as nothing else ever could have.”

He was silent for a moment. “Es-tu malade?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. A week ago I was diagnosed with
cancer. I have to leave music school and go home for treatment. I may not
recover.”

“Es-tu pianiste?”

“Oui,” she replied. “Et compositrice.”

“And seeing me has given you hope?” He smiled faintly and touched
her face.

“Oui, Frédéric,” she said, using the French form of his
name. “Parce que votre musique
brûle brillamment et sera toujours.” Because
your music burns brightly and will forever do so.

“Thank you, spirit
from the future. I believe you will be well. You will recover your health and
write your own music that will burn brightly. Do not despair, my spirit. Be
joyful.”

He kissed her, a
lover’s kiss, and she responded in kind. “How much longer have I?” he asked.

“Seulement
quelques semaines,” she replied. Only a
few weeks.

He sighed. “I
knew as much. But hearing what you have told me is a great comfort.”

About Me

After growing up in the unique town of Oak Ridge, Tennessee, I went to the College-Conservatory of Music in Cincinnati as a vocal performance major. I met and married a tenor and we had three children, and moved to the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania in 1971 where I established a private voice studio and began directing community and high school musical productions. While in Cincinnati I had the good fortune to be on the administrative staff of the Edgecliff Academy of Fine Arts and the Cincinnati Shakespeare Festival.

Here in the Poconos, I directed over eighty musicals from 1984-2015, and had the privilege of seeing many of my private voice students become teachers, professional performers, and most of all, find the joy in using their singing voices.

In 2013 I fulfilled a lifelong dream and wrote my first ever book, a novel entitled HOW I GREW UP, My second novel, ELI'S HEART, was published in June, 2014. My third novel, YOU ARE MY SONG, was released in January, 2015. Novel number four, JAMIE'S CHILDREN, was released in July, 2016, and MEMORIES OF JAKE in March, 2017. MAN WITH NO YESTERDAYS is scheduled to be released on Nov. 11, 2017. My first non-fiction book, "MORE FOG, PLEASE" about my 31 years as a director for community and high school musicals, was released on November 11, 2015.